


Guiding Star

by NatTheSongbird



Series: Nat's CaPri Month 2018 [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste is still dead sorry, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 11:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatTheSongbird/pseuds/NatTheSongbird
Summary: Written for Day One of Captive Prince Month 2018! Prompt: identityHeavy hangs the head that wears the crown.





	Guiding Star

The bed was cold when Damen woke up, the other side not slept in. He sat up, ignoring the slight twinge in his stomach, and looked around their rooms.

"Laurent?" Damen called softly. They had retired to their rooms together, Laurent extracting himself from Damen's embrace with a placating kiss and settling in at his desk to respond to an alarmingly tall stack of correspondences. He had still been writing letters when Damen drifted off.

There was now a stack of replies, all sealed with Laurent's insignia, but no Laurent to be found. The room was silent save for Damen's own breathing.

He stood and felt the chill of the floor creeping up his legs. The door to the balcony was slightly ajar, white curtains swaying in the breeze of the night.

"Laurent?" he called again, crossing to the door and pushing it open.

"Out here," came Laurent's quiet voice from on their balcony.

Damen went out to him. Laurent was perched on the low wall around the perimeter, legs dangling over the edge and hands flat on either side of him. His face was tipped up toward the sky, the moon bathing him in soft, silver light.

"Are you alright?" Damen asked, voice rough with sleep. He padded over to stand behind Laurent, wrapping his arms around him and dropping his face to the crook of his neck.

In his arms, Laurent tensed but didn't pull away. Damen made to move and apologize, but Laurent raised a hand and stroked his curls absently. Damen was effectively anchored in place by the delicate touch.

"I'm fine," Laurent said. "Just thinking."

"It's very late," Damen mumbled. "Or possibly very early. Come back to bed."

Laurent shook his head and removed his hand, dropping it from Damen's curls to its original position on the stone. "Go back to bed. I'll be along in a while."

The tone of his voice tugged at Damen. It was pleasant enough, soft and low and meant to soothe Damen back into sleep, but it was hollow. It was a voice he might use in court if he needed to placate a council member or make small talk. It was a ruse, a mask that Laurent did not often wear around his husband anymore.

Damen lifted his head, awake now. He sat beside Laurent and let the brush of their shoulders and the overlap of their fingertips be the only contact for now. "What troubles you?"

Laurent laughed, the small hollow tone lingering. "Am I so easily read these days? Have I lost my edge?"

"Not at all," Damen said, soft and fond. "And you are only easily read to me. I know you, Laurent. You are an open book I know by heart. Even your sharp edges are a kiss to me."

Laurent made a sound in his throat and looked back up at the moon. "I think," he said, "That there are some pages of this book better left unread, even to you."

"I would know everything about you," Damen insisted. "The good and the bad."

"You will not like this one," Laurent warned. "It is late. You are tired. I do not wish to start this fight."

Damen's heart clenched. "You think that this... this thing troubling you would cause us to fight?"

"We quarreled over the proper way to eat a particular pastry at breakfast two days past," Laurent said, suppressing a laugh. "If that caused a lover's quarrel, this will be a row."

"Then tell me anyway, so we can fight and then clear the air to come together and know each other better."

Laurent's lips quirked in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You just want to have make-up sex."

"That, too," Damen conceded. "Talk to me, Laurent. Tell me what's wrong."

"I was thinking," he said, "About our future."

Damen felt a chill entirely different from the night steal through him. Their decisions about an alliance, a marriage, an entire life together had been made quickly and under uncertain circumstances. They had never been sure of the next day; Laurent not yet been crowned king, Damen not yet in control of his country, and their adversaries still at large and in power had made for a tense and brief courtship.

Now, things were more settled. Laurent and Damen were kings of countries that were recovering from civil disputes, and the alliance was coming, slowly and steadily, to fruition. They were newly wed, their marriage less than a summer old, and things between them were blissful.

Yet here was Laurent, sitting alone, cold and still as a statue, kept awake at night by thoughts of their future.

Damen forced his voice to be calm. "What about our future?"

"The fact that it exists at all," Laurent said. His laugh was a breath, devoid of humor. "I... it still surprises me, at times. I did not expect to have one."

"You have said so before," Damen said, looking at Laurent and brushing their shoulders together. "That you didn't expect to ever fall in love or rule beside anyone. I am glad to have surprised you."

Laurent laced their fingers together but didn't meet Damen's eyes. "That is not quite what I meant. I never expected to be king. My plans did not extend this far."

"You had a plan for everything," Damen said, confusion creeping into his voice. "I find it hard to believe you didn't have one that accounted for your success."

"I had no time for dreams," Laurent said. "Life in Arles, at my uncle's court, meant never planning too far ahead lest I get tangled in the web I was weaving. I had no time for grand plans of being king on my brother's throne."

"The throne is yours," said Damen. "I know it might not feel like it, but the throne in Vere is yours."

"It shouldn't have been," he sighed.

Here it was, thought Damen. This was the issue keeping Laurent awake.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "What would have been so different, if he were king?"

"My brother was a natural leader," Laurent said. "People wanted to listen. They wanted to please him. He commanded armies with an ease I have never found. He was... loved. By the council, by our father, by his guard, by our people... there was hardly a soul in Vere that didn't adore Auguste. I envied his easy authority when we were children and I envy it still." Laurent broke off and laughed bitterly. "My brother is cold in his grave and I'm still coveting his traits from his shadow, trailing behind him and tugging on his sleeve."

"I somehow doubt he or anyone could've had a more capable mind than yours," Damen said carefully. He knew anything Laurent perceived as an insult against that golden untarnished memory would not be taken lightly, but he could not leave Laurent to drown in the shadow he imagined for himself. "You are an excellent king. Vere could ask for no better."

"Vere had better," he replied. "Someone who was kind and cared about them all deeply and got along with every obnoxious, squabbling lord by smiling and charming his way into their good graces." Laurent looked up at the stars again and sighed. "I miss that smile."

Damen laid his hand more firmly over Laurent's on the stone and squeezed. Laurent continued talking with his face tipped up to the sky.

"I was still a child when he died. He was my closest friend and my confidante. I told Auguste everything. If I had questions or thoughts or concerns, he knew them intimately. But he... he was a young man in his twenties. There was much I never knew about him." Laurent swallowed hard. "I wonder sometimes if he ever had anyone that did for him what he did for me. I was too young for him to confide everything in me."

"He must've told you some things," Damen said, gentling his voice.

"He told me when he was frustrated by the business of politics or when he had his heart stolen by some pretty face he'd seen around Arles. But I never knew if he was afraid or sad or lonely. All I knew was smiles and sunshine and courage."

A long silence fell while two silent tears were hurriedly wiped away. Damen said nothing, giving Laurent space to grieve anew. These were not tears for Auguste's death but rather everything they never got to be.

"I have no idea who my brother was," said Laurent finally. "He was just..."

"He was just your brother," Damen said gently. "That was what you most needed him to be. Children don't see their parents as anything but their parents for years. His life and yours were so closely entwined that it must have been easy to forget they were not the same."

"I was almost fourteen when he died," said Laurent. His voice had gone hard, as though saying it aloud pained him even now, close to a decade later. "That's old enough to know better. Auguste is everything I try to be as a king, yet I did not even know him. I have built myself around a man I hardly knew."

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. His eyes were watery but his voice was steady and strong. Damen felt his heart ache, thinking of how much he had loved his own brother.

He had always thought of himself as Crown Prince Damen, son to Theomedes, brother to Kastor. The branches of his family tree wove themselves into the foundation of his identity, and despite Laurent's infamous stubborn independence, he knew those roots ran deep there, too.

Auguste lived at Laurent's core, in Laurent's ideals of honor and bravery and perhaps even politics. If he thought he did not know his brother, Damen worried he would start to forget himself.

"You knew everything you needed to know about him," he said into the still night air. "You knew the important parts."

"Like what?"

"Like what you've told me," replied Damen. "He was brave and kind and honorable. He did not rely on deceit, only on his own strength and the truth. He loved you endlessly. He found time for love and work in equal measure and believed in protecting those who could not protect themselves."

Laurent looked up at the stars wordlessly. His hands were squeezed tightly together, and Damen covered both of his hands with one of his own.

"And even if you don't know him," Damen said, "I know you. And you are all of those things and more, Laurent. Please, come back to bed. You need to sleep."

Laurent drew his knees to his chest. "I will in a moment. Go in without me."

Damen made no move to rise, instead squeezing his hand and laying a soft kiss to his temple. "I will stay with you," he murmured. "Take as long as you need."

Laurent's eyes did not move from the stars, but his posture softened and he returned the squeeze of Damen's hand. The breeze ruffled his hair as they stared upward in silence, waiting for a memory to settle. Damen thought of Laurent leaping from a rooftop, eager for the thrill of a chase. Laurent in his ridiculous feathered hat, laughing at his own cleverness. Laurent teaching a trick to a small child, kneeling and reassuring her with a bravery he did not feel himself. He thought of the subtle quirks of Laurent's smile and his passionate love for books, of everything that made Laurent the enigmatic, commanding presence and sweet lover he was.

"You are not your brother," Damen said finally. "But he would be proud."

Laurent exhaled slowly. "I know." He turned to face Damen, finally smiling. He kissed Damen and led him inside by the hand, letting the door close behind them and block the chill of the night air from disturbing the perfect peace within.


End file.
